


High Expectations

by FujurPreux



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Aziraphale & Crowley living together, Crossover, Gen, Implied Aziraphale/Crowley, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24667090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujurPreux/pseuds/FujurPreux
Summary: Aziraphale goes into another version of Earth in a self-imposed quest and meets Greg Universe.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: A Ficathon Goes Into A Bar





	High Expectations

Aziraphale returned to the flat he now shared with Crowley after a long day in his bookstore. It had been that horrible, horrible day of the year when most businesses offered big discounts. A lot of people —humans, for the most part— confused the angel’s bookstore with a business and walked in demanding, yes, discounts. Therefore, with all the gentleness and kindness that characterized him, Aziraphale had spent his whole day disabusing them from the aforementioned notion. Luckily, though, that belonged to the past. 

At present, he was ready to rest. He crossed the threshold with the idea of sitting on the couch next to the window while drinking tea, reading a book, and listening to… to this new CD thing he got as a present the day before. Blessed be, Crowley already had one CD player. Always so ahead with technology, that Crowley, Aziraphale thought with a happy sigh and a fond smile as he shook his head and closed the door behind him. However, he regretted all his previous appreciations the moment he turned around.

Crowley waltzed in down the hall —although calling it such would be an insult to waltz— snapping his fingers rhythmically as a dreadful electric guitar sounded in the background. Then, as soon as he was in front of Aziraphale, Crowley raised a brush to his face as a microphone, wailing alongside the singer.

“ _ Some — Say I have no direction— _ ”

“Crowley? What in the world—?”

Crowley ignored him in favor of hitting the next verse.

“ _ That I'm a light-speed distraction—! _ ”

Aziraphale held the demon’s hands and miracled the song to stop. He smiled, awkwardly, even if he pretended it wasn’t so. “What is that—”  _ abomination  _ “—you’re singing?”

Crowley’s head tilted to the side and his tongue slithered between his lips before he answered. “A song that represents me. Well, not all of it. But you have to admit some does.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I am a light-speed distraction as you’re well aware of. Also, the verses that come after. You know the ones.” He made a pause and freed one of his hands to move it in a circle as if prompting Aziraphale to complete the phrase with the verses he meant. But the angel was too confused, so the demon did it himself. “Come on, Aziraphale!  _ This life I chose isn't easy but sure is one heck of a ride! _ Isn’t it so me?”

Aziraphale didn’t have the heart to tell him that lyrics so generic could apply to plenty of people. He, the angel who shared quarters with a demon, included. Besides, he had a more important point to address. “How should I have ever known those verses?”

Crowley’s eyes widened in, weirdly enough, earnest innocence, a gesture that Aziraphale wrote down on the list of things he would never tell his flatmate. “They’re on that CD you brought home,” he said. “You never bring music you don’t already approve of.”

“I didn’t…” Aziraphale trailed off as his head turned to the table next to the window. The brown paper bag he got as a present the day before was open, the CD inside it next to the CD player and his jaw dropped.

Yes. He had… he had brought that thing with him…

  
  


A well-known fact about the multiverse: sometimes, due to an unpredictable energy shift, the membranes that separated the different universes became thinner, which led to objects —or people or animals— crossing over. This one time, a book of little significance where it came from appeared where an angel could find it. Said angel, moved to the core by the style and the way the author approached the subject matter, decided he shouldn’t only keep it but also get it autographed. Thus, he set out on a journey.

Finding the book’s world of origin was easy. It would be enough to go backstage and let it work as a compass to show the way in the corridor of the multiverse until it pointed at the correct door. After that, it got trickier, though. The back cover claimed the author was a mysterious, reclusive figure who wrote under a pen name. But Aziraphale was nothing if not persistent and, some detective work later, he narrowed down his search to a small town named Beach City which was, creatively, right next to the beach.

Aziraphale wasn’t familiar with the history of this world. He knew only the basics: aliens had settled down here some time ago, and the angels in charge of this version of Earth spent a while overwhelmed and hysteric, trying to stop it from being destroyed ahead of schedule. Luckily, though, in the end, the problem was solved, and the only big difference between this world and Aziraphale’s was that he ran into purple, green, or blue-skinned people once in a while which he could and did just ignore. On the one hand, as an unannounced and secret guest, it was only courteous to stay out of trouble. Besides, these Gems —as they called themselves— had historically kept themselves isolated from human affairs; the author he looked for couldn’t be one of them. The book was too… too human.

Aziraphale, then, with his book in an inside pocket of his tweed jacket, walked into the town paying attention to the humans living there. They seemed to be a normal bunch that got along well enough, which brought a warm feeling to his heart. Such things were always nice—and rarer than one might have liked. The downside, though, was that, since everyone knew each other, the arrival of a new face was bound to call attention. No one bothered him, but he felt all those eyes on him as he passed by and heard all the whispers behind his back. He neither paid them attention nor minded them; his mission was clear and after that, he’d return to his own world and none of them would ever see him again. 

Soon, the angel’s inspection of the town led him to a car wash from where he heard someone saying, “Geez! Aren’t you hot in that?” 

Aziraphale looked down at himself and realized that his normal attire was indeed not appropriate for this climate. But it was too late to miracle it into something more fitting —never mind that it wouldn’t be his style at all. Instead, then, since the remark had come from a well-intended place, Aziraphale smiled. “Ah. It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

The man, long-haired and with a tank top, shorts, and sandals, scratched the back of his head, still worried. “If you say so…” he murmured before extending his hand. “Greg Universe. How are you doing?”

Aziraphale, not wanting to be rude, offered a big smile and took that hand to shake it. “Aziraphale,” he replied. “I’m doing well, thank you. How about yourself?”

“Very good, thank you.” Greg scratched the back of his head as if he looked for the right words for what he planned to say next. He found them soon enough. “So, my son just left and there’s some lemonade left over in the back. Care to join me? At least you’d get to be in the shade for a while.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Aziraphale after the second it took him to realize what had just happened. “How very thoughtful,” he added as he nodded and hurried to follow the man who was now his host. He needed neither the lemonade nor the shade, but he didn’t want to give himself away. Besides, he could take the chance of asking Greg if he knew the author he looked for. Therefore, he accepted the lemonade and settled down on one of the lawn chairs Greg had set out behind a van and under an umbrella. He even deigned himself to take off his jacket, folding it neatly to be placed on the back of his chair. “Thank you very much for your generosity,” Aziraphale said once he took a sip of the lemonade. It wasn’t bad, but the generosity behind it made it even more pleasant to his angelic senses. 

Greg grinned and served himself some lemonade. “It’s nothing. So, Mr. Aziraphale, where do you visit us from?”

Aziraphale drank a little more before putting the glass down on the table beside him. “Glad you ask,” he began trying to hide how much that question put him on the spot. Aliens weren’t the only difference between this world and the Earth Aziraphale lived in. Geography and the names of countries and cities and towns also varied. So, in order to not lie and confuse the poor human in front of him, he went all the way to the beginning. Or almost. “The Garden of Eden.”

Greg sat down in front of Aziraphale drinking his own lemonade, all his attention on his guest. “That’s a nice name. Sounds cozy.”

“Small and cozy, one could say, yes. Especially when compared with the big cities. Little to do, but peaceful.”

Greg smiled and reached for a guitar that was leaning against the van and played a couple of chords. “Sounds like Beach City. Most of the time, anyway.”

“With more greenery and less beach, but kind of. Yes.” Even the not being peaceful at times, Aziraphale added to himself as a certain demon came to mind. “When is it not peaceful here, if I may ask?”

“Ah. You know. Kids and their adventures.” Greg’s eyes grew distant and his guitar melancholic. “It’s hard to watch at times, but you gotta let them grow. One day, you’re teaching them how to hold the ukulele, and the next, they’re flying away and all you can do is wave them goodbye and hope for the best, you know.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. On the one hand, yes, he knew. It was how he felt about humans sometimes; the last part in particular nailed how he felt like when Crowley told him that humans discovered space travel. On the other hand, most importantly those words were suspiciously similar to the ones used in a passage of the book he carried with him, down to the ukulele. Could it be that he found the mysterious author so easily? However, the back cover described him as reclusive. In Aziraphale’s experience, reclusive authors preferred to stay that way, which meant that if he asked directly, he probably wouldn’t get what he wanted. Therefore, the best course of action would be to beat around the bush. Yes, that sounded about right.

“Say, Mr. Universe, is car washing a good business in this area?”

“Please, call me Greg. And, well, it kept us fed before the royalty checks arrived.”

“Royalty checks?” Oh! Aziraphale drank a little more from his lemonade to steady himself emotionally—and to keep himself from looking too eager. “Don’t tell me that you happen to pursue any artistic endeavors.”

Greg blushed and stopped playing his music to scratch the back of his head. “Kinda? I mean, I had big dreams as a young man, and even now when I have the chance and inspiration strikes, I still sit down to write.”

Oh! Oh! Oh!

Aziraphale felt fireworks exploding on the inside of his brain. Yes! He had found the mysterious author on the first try! Was he good or what. All he needed now was a little push more and—

“Are you okay?” Greg asked in a sudden panic. “Oh, no! You finally got that heatstroke! Don’t worry! I’ll call the ambulance!”

Aziraphale shook his head and began to pay attention to the real world again.

“No, no. I apologize. There’s no need!”

“Are you sure?” Greg had his phone in his hand, reluctant to put it down.

Aziraphale raised both hands and smiled his most angelic smile. He was feeling that good, see? “Yes, I am sure.”

In the end, Greg put the phone down but kept it within reach. His fears hadn’t been assuaged and he would remain vigilant. Aziraphale internally commended him. Only a caring and thoughtful individual such as the man in front of him could have written the wonderful book that waited in the pocket of his jacket. 

“Thing is,” Aziraphale continued, “I’m always delighted when I’m in front of a true virtuoso.”

Greg blushed even harder than before, glancing at his guitar to avoid Aziraphale’s gaze. “Um. I— I wouldn’t go that far.”

Aziraphale showed him a soft and encouraging smile. “Oh, I think you’ve earned the right to believe in yourself, even if it’s only a little.”

Greg smiled right back, still embarrassed but somewhat encouraged. “You’re very kind, Mr. Aziraphale.”

“Don’t mention it. You know, I really enjoy art, in general,” he began, turning around to the jacket on the back of his chair to retrieve the famous book. “Although I’m more of a collector, myself. For example…”

As soon as he saw the volume, Greg’s eyes widened and his entire face lit up. Across from him, Aziraphale relaxed. 

“Hey, I know that book!” Greg said.

Aziraphale faked surprise. “You do?” 

“Yes! Although I didn’t know it was a collectible item.”

“Well, I found it to be quite good. Besides, it could become one. It’s a first edition and, if I could get it autographed…”

“Ah! If that’s the case, I can do you one better! I have a couple of manuscripts in the van from when I was taking them around to find an editor.”

If Aziraphale had had a heart, it would’ve skipped a beat. “Really?”

“Yes. Hold on a second.” Greg got into his van and began to rummage around. 

Judging by the noise and the time it took him, there had to be a lot of things inside. Aziraphale wondered if those were other drafts of other novels that would soon be printed, and if it wouldn’t be overstepping to ask to see them. However, before he reached a decision, from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of someone he hadn’t wanted to see. 

One of the local angels, who Aziraphale recognized thanks to some staff meetings back in the day where they had coincided, walked down the street, looking around, looking for something. That other angel hadn’t seen Aziraphale yet, and the latter made a point of hiding himself better by staying very still behind the umbrella. There was no evidence that the angel looked for him, but their presence was too much of a coincidence and Aziraphale was not going to risk it. Fortunately, he remained unnoticed as the other angel left. Out of a need of putting his mind at ease, Aziraphale let out a big sigh just when Greg came back carrying the manuscript alongside a small paper bag.

“Here. Autographed and all…”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened now as he took the manuscript and pressed it to his chest, the scare from a moment ago entirely forgotten. “Really?”

“Really! And, well…” Greg trailed off for a moment, but then he offered the paper bag as well. “I’d like to toss in a CD with some of my songs. I mean, if that’s okay with you. I composed both the lyrics and the music.”

Aziraphale was close to tears. “Oh! Of course! I’d love to.” He grabbed the paper bag trying to imagine what wonderful imagery he would see in his mind’s eye when he played it, even if the music’s quality was only half of the man’s prose. Then, the angel from before appeared as a reflection on the van’s window. Aziraphale took it as a sign that he shouldn't linger. “Listen, Greg, it's been wonderful to meet you and I’d love to stay and talk a lot more, but I have to go.”

“It’s okay. It was great to meet you.”

Aziraphale shook that hand for what he thought would be the last time and, as he did so, he asked, “So, is there a backdoor in that car wash of yours?”

There was, and thus Aziraphale found his way back to the street and to his own world, undetected and safe, ready to enjoy his gifts…

  
  


… at least until he got around to actually do it and found Crowley dancing to the beat of that terrible, loud music.

Aziraphale hurried to let go of Crowley’s hands to check the CD. A much younger Greg grinned at him from the cover, barely glancing at an autograph next to his head. The angel compared that to the signature on the manuscript. It was like comparing William Blake to Dan Brown. Idea that, by itself, was already enough to make Aziraphale shudder.

“I got the wrong person,” he murmured.

“Are you going back to get the real one?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale nodded. “I need to clear this up.”

“Can I go?”

To be honest, Aziraphale didn’t have the presence of mind to argue. “If you must.”

“All right! Road trip!” the demon claimed. He grabbed the angel’s hand again and twirled him around as they left the flat and he sang again. “ _ Let me drive my Bentley into your heart! _ ”

… fine. That was kind of cute. But Aziraphale was in too much of a hurry to point it out.

The pair found their way to the other Earth and the car wash, where Greg was saying goodbye to a client—and then turned to say hello to them.

“Mr. Aziraphale! Great to see you again! Welcome back!”

“Hello, Greg. I’m sorry to have left so abruptly the other day.”

“Ah! You’re Mr. Universe?” Crowley said, stepping forward to grab one of Greg’s hands with both of his. “A pleasure. I’m a big fan.”

Greg’s eyes sparkled. “Really? Wow. It’s always nice to meet one.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat —or more like he made a noise resembling said action— to remind them of his presence.

“Oh, right. Mr. Aziraphale, you left before I could introduce you.” He turned around and called, “Garnet! The man I told you about is here!”

A very tall Gem came out from the car wash, singlehandedly subverting all the expectations Aziraphale had about this world. 

“Hello,” she said, waving her hand. “I heard you liked my book.”

“Hello,” he replied, waving his. “I did. A lot.”

“Come on, let’s go for a walk. They won’t be here today.”

Aziraphale nodded, knowing not-at-all deep down that ‘they’ meant that one angel and that she was right. He followed her, then, leaving Crowley swooning all around Greg.

Once they were sitting down on a bench by the sea, Aziraphale couldn’t help himself. “Humanity can be learned, then.”

Garnet nodded. “Of course. Especially when you spend some time around the Universe family.”

Aziraphale smiled and settled down. It sounded like it would be one good story.

And it was. Oh, it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [laurus_nobilis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurus_nobilis/pseuds/laurus_nobilis) for betaing, sharing suggestions, and for the last verse Crowley sings. :D


End file.
